


you run to catch up with the sun (but it's sinking)

by tonberrys



Series: renascentia: between the lines [18]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Birthday, Death Eaters, Down with Lord Voldemort, First War with Voldemort, Fix-It, Gen, Horcruxes, Marauders' Era, POV Regulus Black, POV Third Person, Regulus Black Lives, Regulus and Barty are Best Friends, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Very Brief Suggestion of Animal Cruelty :(, Welcome to the Baby Death Eater Murder Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 00:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12445326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonberrys/pseuds/tonberrys
Summary: For many, the autumn and spring might represent change and renewal, but for Regulus, it was always the summertime.Regulus Black's birthdays, spanning from 1971-1981, in theRenascentia-verse. Canon-compliant up until 1979.





	you run to catch up with the sun (but it's sinking)

**Author's Note:**

> In the 1980 and 1981 birthday snippets, italicized dialogue is spoken in French.
> 
> It's also probably ideal to read "[no answers for no questions asked](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12231759)" before this one for the last three to fully make sense, but everything before that follows canon, so you could also just stop at 1979 if you wanted to avoid the AU aspect.

_22nd July 1971 (10th Birthday)_

The house was still, but Regulus’s mind crackled with quiet energy. Today was his tenth birthday -- a modest event, dimmed by the brilliant shine of Sirius's upcoming entrance to Hogwarts, but in truth, Regulus did not mind the divided attention so much, if it was for that. There was some level of dread in the realisation that he would be essentially alone with his tutoring for months and months to come, but there was a certain excitement in the air, imagining what the grand castle of Hogwarts would be like. The things his brother would learn, the adventures he would undoubtedly hunt down, the history he would take part in...

Regulus need only endure one more year before he was set to follow Sirius into the dungeons, but that year could not pass fast enough. If he could curl up in his brother's suitcase without reprimand or suffocation, that fleeting consideration might have formed to a reality, come September, but for now, he would have to wait. Just a week before, he and Sirius had gone to a Magpies game with their Uncle Ignatius -- and the thrill had yet to fade. Regulus wished the summer wouldn't have to end, but come holidays, Sirius would return home again. This would not be the last opportunity for play. (The absence would be temporary, and Regulus could not allow himself to be so childish as to appear upset about the natural course of things. He would have to be patient.)

His brother had been the one to deliver a set of magical creature figurines, each coming to life briefly when stroked on their heads or spines. A dragon, a hippogriff, a sphinx, a merperson, a grim, a basilisk, a three-headed dog, and an acromantula. For the remainder of the day, the grim figurine had repeatedly appeared throughout the house (on the bookshelf, by the half-eaten cake, held eerily in a touchless perch above Regulus's shoulder) -- the last of which had nearly startled him out of his skin, so in that respect, Regulus perhaps wouldn't miss _everything_ about his brother being around.

Their House was calm, collected, with every piece falling perfectly into place. Soon, he could follow suit.

* * *

_22nd July 1972 (11th Birthday)_

Tension buzzed in the air, a stomach-turning sort of anticipation held taut with the well-known consequences of straying from the expectations set before him.

Regulus turned eleven, today. In just over a month, he would be following his brother off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Somehow, what ought to have been the most thrilling birthday to date felt like a stage with too-bright lights, and though the sea of familial faces were smiling, there was a certain strain in their too-regulated voices that made Regulus feel as if he was somehow pinned to the wall for inspection.

The hall was bedecked with emerald and silver, a blatant display that could be misunderstood by no one, least of all the guest of honour.

Family he rarely saw had made a point to come, that evening -- people he knew better by their carefully memorised names on the tapestry than he did by their visits -- and the way their eyes followed him around the room made him want to find a tablecloth to retreat under with a book. An absurd thought, absolutely not an option, yet on more than one occasion, he found himself staring longingly at a table of hors d'oeuvres in the corner for reasons quite unrelated to appetite.

“Happy birthday, Regulus.” 

Starting slightly, Regulus looked up to see his cousin Narcissa, who was smiling in a way that seemed to soften the glaring lights, if only a little. “Thank you,” he said politely, shifting in a way that he hoped would mask the stare she had interrupted.

If Narcissa noticed, she made no mention. “Great Aunt Dorea was looking for you. You’ve been very quiet, over here.”

His Great Aunt Dorea had married a Potter. Sirius’s stupid new friend from Gryffindor was apparently a Potter. Childish though it was, Regulus didn’t much want to say hello to Aunt Dorea, but he knew he ought to. “Sorry. I haven’t been feeling very well today.”

Narcissa folded her hands together loosely with a knowing look. “An unfortunate day for it, with everyone here. Hopefully it isn’t contagious…”

The sudden possibility for escape flashed temptingly through Regulus’s mind, but the consequences for dodging a party everyone had gone out of their way to attend (especially when he was not actually ill) struck far worse. “I don’t think it is anything as bad as that,” he adjusted quickly.

Again, his cousin smiled, though it was something more akin to a subtle smirk as she shook her head. “You are enduring your discomfort admirably. Come along,” she said, turning slightly to lead him through the people milling about the room. Looking down at him, she continued, “Everyone is very excited for you. This is a big year.”

Regulus nodded, fingers fidgeting with the lining of his pocket as they walked. Through the forest of family and friends, he could spot his Great Aunt Dorea standing with her sister, Cassiopeia. Of the people in attendance, at least they were among the least likely to drop pointed remarks, unlike his grandfather Pollux. _(‘This one is certain to be a Slytherin,’ he had said to Great Aunt Callidora, ‘Don’t know what happened with Sirius. When we were attending, that hat knew how to sort a Black. It always has.’)_

The sorting of a Black _had_ always been a foregone conclusion, and Regulus hated how uncertain he felt about his own, the closer it drew. (What if-)

When his great aunts spotted him and Narcissa, he could see a smile of recognition rise on each of their faces in turn. Steeling himself for conversation, Regulus plastered on a small, polite smile onto his own. That is what everyone wanted; no one wanted his childish nerves, and he knew that well. Time with his own thoughts could wait. For now, it was time throw himself back into the strain of expected interaction.

(Leading up to the party, Sirius had made a point to complain about the decorations, not seeming to like everyone’s enthusiasm to assume Regulus’s upcoming House, perhaps in part because it was a clear slight against his own. Clearly, his brother had no interest in what the ‘expected interactions’ were.)

If that was to be the case, Regulus supposed at least one of them should put in the effort.

* * *

_22nd July 1973 (12th Birthday)_

The dawning of twelve years old was significantly less of a lauded to-do, compared to eleven, but Regulus found it to be a welcome change. The anxiety leading up to Hogwarts had been more miserable than he suspected any of his family members had intended for it to be, but his adherence to expectation had served him well. This year, no one felt the need to let loose a barrage of indirect (and sometimes not-so-indirect) reminders about legacy. (As if he had ever needed the reminders.)

Even Sirius was being less unbearable, now that they were back in the context of their summer routine. Games of chess, exploration of the surrounding Welsh beachside -- they felt like brothers again, and after an uncomfortable year of watching Sirius parade around with the lions, that reassurance was gift enough.

(Not literally, perhaps. He still hoped to get the new Cleansweep broom announced earlier that summer. Slytherin’s Seeker had graduated this past year, and he had every intention of snagging the position, come September.)

Thus far, it had been a relaxing birthday morning, wonderfully devoid of any chaos whatsoever (and he could smell the cake Kreacher had prepared for that afternoon, whenever he passed the kitchen). Situating himself in a large, cushioned chair by the window in their summer home library, he felt the heat of the sun radiating through the glass, early though it still was. Opening the book he had started a few days prior, Regulus dove into a tale of enchanted artifacts, dragon lairs, and a very clever wizard protagonist; and so engrossing was that tale that Regulus did not notice his brother sidle up an hour later until the book had been plucked unceremoniously from his hands.

“I was reading that,” Regulus objected, sitting up straighter in the oversized chair.

“I know, that’s why I took it,” his brother said as if it was obvious. “I found a hatch in that tunnel we discovered yesterday.”

Regulus reached for the book, and Sirius held it up a little higher, not unlike a carrot before a horse. “So?” Regulus said grumpily, though he could not help the tingle of curiosity prickling at the back of his mind.

“So, we’re going to go check it out. It’s time for a real adventure. You can have your book back when we’re done,” Sirius said as he took a step backwards.

Regulus slanted his mouth in mild annoyance, though it was as much for show as anything. The tunnel had been a bit on the dingy side, dark and mysterious -- and fortunately possessing of a more earthy than pungent smell. “Okay. Just don’t-” Sirius folded the corner of the page Regulus had been reading, drawing a cringe from the younger boy. “We have bookmarks.”

“Come on!” Sirius said without acknowledging the remark, snapping the book shut and darting out of the room.

With a huff, Regulus dropped his feet to the floor and stood, straightening his clothes before following after Sirius with a deliberately slow pace. Going out and getting dirty didn’t seem like the best plan when his celebratory lunch was not so far off, but it was a smaller affair this year, and they would be back soon enough. Just a peek in the hatch would be enough for now, certainly...

* * *

_22nd July 1974 (13th Birthday)_

Magnus Avery had been unable to mystically rearrange the Quidditch World Cup to land an England game on his birthday, but as far as his friend's fathers went, Regulus could determine with certainty that Mr Avery was at the top of the list today. France versus Luxembourg would have to do. The crowds were thinner than he would have expected: Mr Avery had told them everyone was required to leave their wands at home due to some ridiculous ban or another, and there were many who would forgo the games in protest. Wandless or not, Regulus wondered if it might be nice, in a different way, to have fewer strangers thrumming about and bumping into him. There was a certain energy to a quidditch crowd that was exciting during the game, but in all the moments surrounding, he could do without the bustle.

Beside him, Avery (of the Sebastian variety, for there were several today) was looking toward the stadium, some distance away. "I'm definitely going to make the Slytherin team this year," he said confidently as a child whizzed past them on a toy broom.

"Of course you will. You probably would have last year, too, if you had tried out," Regulus responded, eying a man across the way who was holding a large, tubular object Regulus did not recognize.

"McGregor's not even that good."

"You will be a much better fit." Again, Regulus's eyes fell on a different man with the same large tube, and a woman, not far off from him. Looking to his friend's father, he asked, "Mr Avery, what are those people carrying around? I didn't see anything like that being sold as merchandise."

"Dissimulators. They are obnoxious up close, but we will be in a box, so it shouldn't be too bothersome," the man responded with a subtle look of distaste to one of their fellow Cup-goers.

Nodding, Regulus spared the strange objects one last look before allowing the curiosity to settle. From their description, he supposed he would see them in action, soon enough, regardless of whether he wanted to. From his right, he felt a tug on his sleeve, looking down to see Avery's little sister Clarice, hair neatly twisted up in an elaborate, mousey-brown braid.

"Who do you want to win today?" she asked.

"France," he and Avery responded in unison.

"I was talking to Regulus," the little girl said pointedly, leaning forward to peer around at her eldest brother, "It's his birthday wish."

"No one cared about my birthday wish back in May," Sebastian objected with a snort.

From the other side of his friend, the smaller Avery boy, Darien, piped in dryly, "Don't let Dad hear you say that, or the crystal chess set and moving dragon statuette will be mine." He paused as his brother scowled. "Actually, could you repeat that, just a little bit louder?"

Sebastian flicked his brother's ear.

When they reached their designated box, reserved for those with sufficient wealth or position (or both), Regulus approached the edge and clasped his hands on the railing. Magnus Avery was in the corner talking to one of his fellow barristers; the Avery siblings were bickering about which seat belonged to whom (though it was questionable, how much time they would spend sitting); and for a moment, Regulus allowed his mind to wander out into the stretching scene before him. Sparse though the stands were, it was the Pitch that drew his gaze, soon to be occupied with some of the best players in the world. It felt strange, coming to a World Cup game without Sirius, but even if the Averys had invited the other boy along, the look of disgust on his brother's face when he revealed his World Cup companions led Regulus to think he would not have accepted anyway.

Earlier that day, their family had gathered to celebrate his official entrance to adolescence -- a convenient affair when the majority of them were gathered in Wales for the summer, anyway -- and Sirius had taken every opportunity to claim he did not care about Regulus’s stupid birthday trip to the Cup. Regulus could not decide if he hoped that was true or untrue.

* * *

_22nd July 1975 (14th Birthday)_

As a boy of thirteen -- no, _fourteen_ now -- Regulus thought he oughtn’t feel such a deep delight, glancing out the window to see a blanket of summer snow coating the ground. Perhaps it was some witch or wizard’s idea of a lark, or a spell gone wrong, or perhaps Wales had just forgotten for a moment what season they were in. Such a display defied all logic, whatever the truth of it, but he had been staring in wonder for a solid five minutes before his brother’s shouts from the other room (and their mother’s equally volumed reprimands) drew him to the present.

A present where snow had fallen in July, and not even a scuffle of words could touch him.

Wasting no further time, Regulus made haste for his room, pulling over a cloak and looking for a scarf...only to remember, with some degree of private embarrassment, that he had felt no need to pack for a summer holiday to the beach. He felt half a child, getting excited over something as arguably mundane as snow, whatever day of the year it might be, but a smile was tugging as his lips as he walked -- calmly, slowly, deliberately -- down the stairs to see Sirius casting a spell on his shoes, calling for Regulus to hurry up, then disappearing outside all in a muddle.

Taking out his wand, Regulus cast an _Impervius_ charm of his own, locking the dry warmth into his shoes and his clothes before stepping out into the crisp, confusing chill. Sirius’s footsteps had marred the smooth stretch of snow, and with each careful move forward, he tried to step in precisely the same pattern to avoid upsetting the beauty further. He had nearly reached the end of the short path extending from their door when a sudden gust blasted away the footsteps, leaving a disturbed but altogether smoother surface and obscuring the line of the steps.

“Come on! You’re taking too long,” Sirius called back over his shoulder as he stuck his wand back in his pocket.

Already feeling the frosty nip at his nose, Regulus nodded, offered one final despairing look to the ground below, then set forth at a quicker pace. He could see several of their peers gathering outside of their particular grouping of summer homes, though his brother did not appear to have any intent to approach. (Or if he did have such an intention, Regulus expected it would be to better aim a snowball at the backs of their heads rather than socialise.)

“Regulus!” Evan had spotted him, waving over to where he stood with what looked to be Sebastian Avery, Lorcan Mulciber, and Delilah Burke.

For a moment, Regulus slowed to another stop, crinkling his nose against the biting breeze and pulling his cloak more tightly around himself. Sparing a small glance to the side, he saw that Sirius was pressing forward, seemingly unaware that Regulus had paused at all. Perhaps he ought to offer some indication of his diversion, but somehow it felt too strange to call out to his brother now.

Awkwardly, Regulus turned back to his friends and cut a path through the snow.

“It’s a birthday miracle,” Mulciber said with a grin, reaching over to sling an arm around Regulus’s shoulders, which Regulus immediately slipped out of with well-practiced ease.

“Happy birthday, Regulus,” Delilah offered with a brusque but pleasant smile.

Evan and Avery offered their sentiments in turn, and Regulus thanked them each politely, feeling a small measure of guilt for veering off from his brother’s call, but as he turned to assess where Sirius might have wandered off to, the cold splat of a softly packed snowball hit him square in the temple, staggering him back a step in surprise.

“I thought your Seeker reflexes were supposed to be better than that!” Sirius was calling out from across the stretch of snow as Regulus wiped a sleeve over his face in annoyance.

All at once, the summer-snow war of 1975 began.

* * *

_22nd July 1976 (15th Birthday)_

Perched in a chair by the window of their summer home, Regulus watched a bird flutter by with enough twittering cheer to sicken his stomach. More than a week had passed since Sirius’s vanishing act, and stupid though it was, Regulus had almost let himself hope that, upon waking, Sirius would show back up with some stupid excuse or another: Something akin to a birthday miracle, for it wouldn’t be the first they’d experienced on their getaways to the seaside.

The reality of his birthday was turning out to be a massive letdown, but he supposed he had done this to himself, entertaining even the faintest hope. Regulus knew he’d had the right of it, the morning he’d discovered his brother had run off. If Sirius was going to leave, he would need to burn away the remains of his hope if he didn’t want to hit with that same gut-wrenching disappointment, over and over. (No one wanted to get caught being the last person holding on, not to anything, not to anyone.)

Lunch with his parents had been a step shy of unbearable. No longer were they speaking in stilted tones around him, and his mother had been free of fitful outbursts for a few days, but even if their words were cool enough to combat the summer heat, somehow the normalcy of it all was more uncomfortable than anything else. Not once had he heard his parents speak Sirius’s name, since the morning Regulus had reported him missing. Not a question of where his brother had gone, whether he would come back, whether it had been that stupid wireless programme that had set him off… Nothing.

As if he had never existed.

Eyes scanning the bookshelf beside him, Regulus spotted a childhood favorite and felt a rush of miserable nostalgia. Conrad Mendel, the clever, dragon-lair-diving adventurer. Regulus had read the whole series, stretched throughout the entire summer following his first year at Hogwarts. That same summer, he and Sirius had stumbled upon an earthy tunnel, offset from the beach. It had felt worth it, back then, to get his knees a little dirty if it secured his brother’s positive attention. (Perhaps ‘back then’ could arguably extend to just a few weeks prior, if one included that terrible art gallery they’d spent an afternoon ridiculing. A few weeks ago might as well have been a lifetime ago, as it was.) They had been late to Regulus’s birthday lunch, so caught up were they in their tunnel explorations, but Sirius had protected him from the brunt of those dirty knees, insisting it had been his idea. Their mother had railed at them for ten solid minutes, a terrifying experience that Regulus had decided he never ever wanted to experience again, but when it was over, his brother had tottered off as if the defense had been nothing -- the obvious course -- a foregone conclusion.

(Those defenses were extended less and less, over the years. As of late, it had seemed like Sirius actively enjoyed pointing out Regulus’s faults to their parents.)

Pulling the set of books from the shelf and sticking it in the bag beside him, Regulus stood with his lips pressed to a hardset line. Each step took him forward with measured intention, out from the house and into the heat of the summer afternoon.

The earthen tunnels felt much smaller than he remembered, and the hatch much more precarious, but he remained rather small for fifteen (however much he loathed to admit it) and crawled inside without too much trouble. Beyond the hatch, they had found more tunnels, carved out for Merlin knew what. A flick of the wand could light the sparsely spaced lanterns left by some predecessor, and at the end, a pocketed area of sorts, like a tiny stone room The walls were grimier than he remembered, but off to the side, it was still dry and relatively smooth.

Situating himself against the wall, Regulus pulled out the first book and started to read.

Evening had fallen over the Welsh beachside, when at last Regulus resurfaced from the tunnels -- the tiny cavern a few books richer, and his bag a few books lighter. Nostalgia was a poison, and if anything, Regulus felt more miserable than he had that afternoon. He wasn’t a child anymore: The tunnels no longer fit quite right, expectations were so much higher, and there was no one, not even Sirius, who was ever going to lighten those burdens again.

His brother had abandoned him. Betrayed a promise and forced Regulus to break the news. His brother had left.

(He had no brother left.)

Eyes catching the sun drooping toward the horizon, he knew there were those who were trying to fill that hole without saying as much. Evan and the others had insisted on a birthday celebration amongst the group of them, right about this time. He knew he should go, at least to put up a front of normalcy, but Regulus didn’t want to see them, didn’t want to see his parents, didn’t really want to see anyone.

...Except for perhaps Barty, at home in Hertfordshire as he always was for the majority of the holidays. Barty’s disagreeable father was never too fond of permitting visits, despite the Crouch family’s connection to their tree through his grandfathers’ cousin (Regulus had confirmed immediately upon returning home, that first Christmas -- Charis Black Crouch), but a week, even a few days, was better than nothing.

A different sort of lonely ache twisted in his chest, then. Unceremoniously, Regulus cast a cleaning charm on his clothes and started his walk back to the house, and with each step, his fingers tingled to write to his friend. What exactly he would say (and what exactly had _already_ been said), Regulus was not certain. All he knew was that he wanted his friend closeby, soothing the worst of life’s hostilities, if only for a little while.

* * *

_22nd July 1977 (16th Birthday)_

“It has only been two weeks, and they’re already including us,” Barty was saying as he paced back and forth across the drawing room. “It’s only intel, which I suppose isn’t that big of a deal, but at least it isn’t just training all summer.”

Regulus looked up from his book and settled a hand on the page, leaning against the arm of his chair. “They are probably waiting until we are at least old enough to apparate to include us in much more than that. We can’t very well rely on brooms, portkeys, and our own legs to escape an Auror raid or a vigilante scuffle.”

“Aurors,” Barty said with a huff of disdain, “I can’t wait until we strike the DMLE, tear down the Ministry… It is selfish to hope they wait for us, but I truly do. I want to see my father’s face when it all crumbles.”

“The Cause has a lot of crumbling to do. Surely they will save that one for you,” Regulus said mildly, propping his chin in his hand and watching as Barty completed another lap. “Even if everyone hates your father, I imagine they will respect that you hate him the most, when the time finally comes.”

(Bitterly, Regulus thought it fortunate that at least his blood traitor brother wasn’t actually doing anything productive with his foul opinions. Angry as he was, that wasn’t a complication he felt quite as enthused about. Barty Crouch Sr. needed to go, but Sirius -- Sirius would probably benefit most from a permanent silencing charm.)

Settling on the ottoman situated next to Regulus’s chair, Barty let out another huff of air and propped his weight up with an arm. “Is our Friday night training with Bellatrix still happening tonight, even though it’s your birthday? Or do you get the day off?”

“It’s still happening, promptly at 7 o’clock.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Barty said with a grin, and Regulus cracked a little smile in return. “We should grab supper afterwards. Last week, I felt queasy, eating before.”

Folding his arms atop the arm of his chair, Regulus nodded and set down his chin. “There should be cake left over from lunch, if you would like a snack now. In case training runs late. We still have a few hours.”

“A brilliant plan,” Barty said, looking quite pleased as he stood up. Regulus smile grew in turn, rising from his chair to lead the way to the kitchen.

It was not the cake that made Regulus feel queasy, later that night. Bella chose a rotting curse for their training session -- a bit of a rude choice for his birthday, he thought, but he did not dare say as much -- practicing first on various foods, and then on a small bird with a black head snatched from the coastline, presumably. He could feel the acidic burn of bile as fluttering wings flapped frantically, trying to free its trapped foot. ( _Go on. We do not have all evening,_ Bella had said to him with an edge of impatience.) Focusing very hard on a floorboard off to the side, Regulus tried to imagine the bird was a particularly rambunctious enchanted pillow, but neither the chirp nor the resulting smell were particularly pillow-like.

Barty had cast the curse quickly, when presented with his own, thus releasing them from their training for the night. With a counter-curse from each, the two boys were sent off on their way.

As they stepped out from the Lestranges’ summer estate and out into the sticky warmth of the night, Regulus felt a hand press briefly to his shoulder, thumbing a knot for a few seconds before dropping again. Barty shoved his hands in his pockets with a slightly-too-casual remark that he wasn’t feeling hungry yet, so if Regulus wasn’t either, they could head back. Regulus could not tell for certain if it was true, but he was silently grateful, nonetheless. 

The short walk back to the Blacks’ holiday residence was quiet, save for the distant crash of waves, and when a chirping bird flittered overhead, Barty started talking about a new programme on the wizarding wireless network that he had been listening to, telling of interesting artifacts found in cave-diving expeditions, and how they could probably still catch the end of it, if Regulus’s parents weren’t using the wireless.

They were not. Tucking it under arm, the boys carried the wireless up the stairs and situated it on Regulus’s bedside table without a word. As they settled on the bed with eyes trained to the ceiling, the silence was filled with the tale of a particularly fascinating effects of an enchanted cauldron found in Moscow. When the programme ended, neither moved to switch it off.

* * *

_22nd July 1978 (17th Birthday)_

A witch or wizard’s seventeenth birthday marked a milestone of adulthood. Regulus had risen that morning feeling no more responsible than he had the day prior, for he had hoisted the weight of his family upon his shoulders long before, but there was a certain freedom and respect that came with such a passage. The lifting of the Trace, the freedom to apparate, (the expectation to fully participate with the Death Eaters when school did not conflict). Just a day before, he had been a child; but no more.

Regulus was a legal adult, now, and the party to mark it was the largest in years.

“He’s flourishing! Don’t you think so, dear? Seventeen already.” From only a few paces away, Regulus could hear his grandmother Irma chattering with his other grandparents by the tower of fruit, but as per usual, he pretended like he could not hear, for the sake of politeness. Silently, he raked his eyes around the crowded party for his friends.

“That ambition -- quite like me, if I do say so myself,” his grandfather Pollux was saying with a little puff of pride in his stance, “He has taken on a considerable amount of responsibility for his young age.”

From within their circle, his other grandmother, Melania, tittered with a smile, “You are not the only ambitious one. I’ve always thought he’s rather like Arcturus.”

Pollux snorted, earning a deadpanned stare from the Arcturus in question. “From surface observation, certainly,” Pollux continued, “but Bellatrix tells me he is getting a certain grit to him as he grows. Spending more time with her is good for him. Your branch could use a little more passion.”

“Ah, ‘passion.’ You do like to call it that,” Arcturus quipped wryly.

From across the room, Regulus locked eyes with Barty, whose bright grin brought a smile to his own face. Delightful though it was to eavesdrop on his grandparents detailing how wonderful he was (in the strange, talking-about-you-like-you-weren’t-in-visual-range way that they sometimes did), his friend’s presence was a welcome change. Barty had been old enough to apparate by himself for some time now, but an internship at the Ministry ate away far more of his time than Regulus would have liked, and that his birthday had fallen on a Saturday free of obligations was a stroke of luck. (Barty had insisted he would have fought for the day off, regardless, but Regulus appreciated the certainty of it). 

As Regulus drew closer, he saw Barty was standing near a group of their fellow Death Eaters, plucking a sandwich from one of the trays.

“I thought there for a moment that you might have wandered off,” Regulus said when he was in speaking range, and right away, Barty shook his head. 

“No, I'm not going anywhere,” he said emphatically, “I just thought you might need to mingle a bit with your family. Rabastan has been relaying some interesting news,” he finished with a lopsided grin.

“The subject matter is the interesting part, more so than Rabastan’s telling of it,” Bellatrix remarked, and though Rabastan made a face, he did not argue the point.

Regulus lifted his brow in a silent question.

“Godric’s Hollow was struck again this summer,” Rabastan reiterated, and a look of recognition sparked in Regulus’s expression. (He had read of it this morning in the paper, once his father set it aside for the morning.) “Not just the muggles this time, but a proper fight with the filth that would defend them.”

“Soon enough, maybe Godric really _will_ be hollow,” Demetrius Travers said with a smirk from beside him, and the smug expressions on their faces led Regulus to think it was probably not the newspaper that had filled them in on the details of the raze. 

In polite company, every word was carefully chosen to sound just casual enough to avoid outright confirmations, though the vast majority of those in attendance were active at best and neutrally supportive at worst, but it was in this corner of the hall that the thrill thrummed loudest. The fresh brand etched on his arm seemed to reverberate within the circle, and to be included in their meaningful exchanges made him feel more adult than a birthday did.

Everything was going to change, now.

* * *

_22nd July 1979 (18th Birthday)_

Great Aunt Lycoris’s house was as silent as it was grimy, abandoned and forgotten by their dwindling family. For an hour, Regulus had been lying on the sofa, eyes fixed on a locket -- a first, for him, as far as birthday pastimes went. (It was not just any locket, but _the_ locket, burned so thoroughly in his mind that he could probably reproduce its likeness for an eternity, even if he never saw it again.) The dust had been cleared from his immediate area, over the course of the past couple of weeks, but his mind seemed to grow dustier by the day, progress stalled with indecision.

Living to see his eighteenth birthday had not been part of his plan, and now that it was here, he did not know what to do with it.

Rolling onto his back, Regulus stared at the ceiling above and imagined it was Twelve Grimmauld Place arching above. (Or perhaps their summer home in Wales. Would they still have gone?) He imagined that Kreacher was scuttling about in the kitchen preparing lunch; that he could see his mother, if only he were to walk into the other room. He imagined a relaxing game of chess with Barty or a round of pick-up quidditch near the beach. There would be no stories about Death Eater activity, no training with Bella, no gossip about his runaway brother.

In reality, there would be none of those things only because he was the runaway brother now.

* * *

_22nd July 1980 (19th Birthday)_

Spending one’s birthday abroad sounded rather exotic in theory. As it was, France was only a hop and a skip away (perhaps ‘exotic’ would be overstating it), and disappearing into the night had been rather less fun than it so often sounded in novels. The tiny French wizarding village he had settled in was about as far from exotic as he could have imagined, but he could never decide if that made it more or less surreal.

A year and some days had passed since he swiped the Dark Lord’s horcrux and hastened for the metaphorical hills, and in that year, Regulus felt as though his life had frozen to a standstill. This fragment of a soul was not yet useful to a living form... and even if the Dark Lord did somehow fall, Regulus suspected the locket would be required for some sort of resurrection ceremony, and _he_ certainly would be doing no such thing for the Dark Lord. There were times he thought he could probably just give up on his efforts to destroy it without much consequence, but those frustrated patches stood little chance against the innate need to problem-solve and the resilient desire to crush even a fragment of the Dark Lord’s soul.

No matter how long it took, no matter the cost, Regulus was determined to figure this out.

Upon entering the apothecary, Regulus could hear some other patron chattering away in French, and though it had taken some time to brush up on his own conversational usage of the language, he was pleased to find that he could follow effortlessly now.

Though he browsed for ingredients and pre-brewed potions, Regulus knew on some level that he would find nothing of consequence for the very specific needs he had. For some reason, ‘acidic potions potent enough to disintegrate the fragment of a megalomaniac dark wizard’s soul’ was not sectioned off or labeled in the small shop, and any clues he found were often hard-won the old-fashioned way.

The shop had emptied by the time Regulus was turning to leave, and he was only a few paces from the door when a voice cut through the silence.

“ _Kid -- before you leave, your ‘special delivery’ has come in,_ ” the young man called out in French from behind the counter, setting between them a mud-coloured cloth bag, long and thin. “ _I’ve got one particularly terrifying enchanted blade for you_.”

Pausing in his step with a quick glance in the direction of the voice, Regulus looked at the bag, then looped back to the counter; and upon reaching his destination, he peeked briefly inside to confirm that the contents were as stated. Thus far, Julian had never failed to follow through, though Regulus was never quite sure how he came about such bounty, with how isolated this little village was. The potioneer struck Regulus as a little too blunt to be a typical shady smuggling type, but perhaps things were different here. It suited well enough, as far as he was concerned.

“ _Happy birthday to me, then,_ ” Regulus said, folding the bag flatly and situating it in his pocket.

The young man -- Julian -- lifted his brow. “ _Ah, so you do have a birthday._ ”

“ _Everyone has a birthday,_ ” Regulus responded pointedly, smothering a flicker of discomfort as he pulled out his payment, “ _It’s not anything special._ ”

With a shrug, Julian accepted the coins and scribbled something in his transaction log. “ _You’re just so quiet about it all. You aren’t really new anymore. No family here, right?_ ”

“ _No, on my own._ ”

“ _That seems pretty lonely._ ”

“ _I keep busy._ ”

Julian eyed the bag again with a casual shrug. “ _Sometimes, I legitimately wonder what you are getting up to with some of this stuff. I’ve got an owl more menacing than you are, even knowing you’ve got a blade in your pocket now. But let it be said, I really hope this isn't some sort of murder weapon._ ”

“ _It’s not a murder weapon._ ” (Not technically, at least, if it was only part of the Dark Lord's soul he was targeting, and success had no certainty...though that didn't seem like a distinction to put forth.) “ _I’ve just been something of an artifact enthusiast, as of late,_ ” Regulus responded simply, “ _Besides, does it really befit a procurer of such goods to be poking around in what people do with them?_ ”

“ _I just mean that you seem like a nice kid, and it makes me curious._ ” Julian shrugged. “ _Besides, people are probably less likely to do something illegal with these things if I call them out._ ” 

Privately, Regulus thought it a naive conclusion, because then they were just more likely to commit the crime against you first, but he held his tongue. “ _I’m not a kid,_ ” he instead corrected with a crinkled nose.

The man lifted his eyebrows and snapped his fingers. “ _Right, you’re having a birthday today. How old are you?_ ”

Though Regulus knew he didn’t owe this person any of his personal information, somehow he itched for the conversation -- for anyone to even care how old he was, for the first time in quite some time now. “ _Nineteen._ ”

“ _Really? You don’t look it._ ” Regulus scowled. “ _Cool down. I could mean you look older,_ ” he added, though the smile on his face suggested there was no way he could have meant it as such.

“ _If you’re going to make fun of me-_ ”

“ _I’m not making fun of you. Rian, isn’t it?_ ”

Regulus felt a wave of discomfort thunder against the walls of his mind. ( _It's Regulus_ , that feeling objected, _My name is Regulus Arcturus Black._ ) “ _Yes,_ ” he said aloud.

“ _Happy birthday, Rian._ ”

The name was wrong, and the face saying that name was wrong, but Reg tipped his head in acknowledgement, trying to keep that miserable pang from creeping into his expression. “ _Thank you,_ ” he forced out politely, slipping out the door before conversation could continue.

A year had passed since he last saw Barty, saw his mother and Narcissa and Bella and Evan and Avery and the lot of them. It was their faces and their well-wishes that he wanted, so deeply that each moment of the day had been lined with the urge to ruin everything and return home to England. (Far too often, he considered it, but he could not turn back now. Regulus was dead, and he had a job to do that was more important than feeling comforted on his birthday.)

Loneliness crept like some lingering fungus, spreading to every corner of the modest house he had settled in. (Aches of an intangible nature could not be burned out or cut away, and no salve in this country would be sufficient, he knew.) His collection of books on the shelf was growing; his desk was neatly bare, save for a few items he had been practicing blended charms on to fill the empty spaces in the day when his mind threatened to wander. From his desk drawer, he grabbed the locket, threading his fingers through its heavy chain as his eyes drifted to the furthest corner. Tucked away from any window was a workstation of a different sort. Vials were stored in a small wooden box pressed flush against the wall next to a small cauldron, looking rather more like a potion-brewing setup than anything else, but the wooden table had been charmed against every offense he could think of (spells of a darker nature, flames, destructive potions -- _anything_ that might work).

With his fingers still entwined in the locket to hold it in place, Regulus reached into his cloak and pulled out the dagger, using his thumb to unsheath it. A subtle glint caught the metal as he hovered it over the box of vials before him. Pressing the blade gently against the corner of the box, the blade met butter-soft resistance, nicking off a sliver with no more effort than the drop of his hand. Anticipation thrummed from his chest down to his fingers as they tightened against the chain, holding the locket firmly against the table. His eyes traced the emerald S as he touched the tip of the dagger to its gleaming surface and pushed his weight into a press.

The dagger slipped with a stagger, and not so much as a scratch.

Pressing his lips to a hard line, Regulus dropped the dagger on the table with clunk and untangled his fingers from the horcrux’s chain, tossing it against the wall in irritation. “So much for cutting through anything,” he muttered to himself. “What a useless enchantment.”

Stormily he stepped back into the summer sun with no path in mind except _away_. Today was to be as disappointing as all of the days preceding, so it seemed. (Perhaps he should have expected as much.)

* * *

_22nd July 1981 (20th Birthday)_

For the first time in a long time, Regulus was feather-light. No more than a week had passed since he destroyed the Dark Lord’s horcrux, strangely close to the anniversary of his disappeared, and the newfound freedom felt clumsy. No drive or purpose underpinned every moment of every day; he was drifting without an anchor, left here in this quiet place without a quest searing at the back of his mind.

(What would be become of him now?)

Sitting by his window with a cup of tea, Regulus watched the clouds and the birds and the passers-by from behind the glass, closed off from the morning's summer glare but no less able to see it in their tired expressions. There was not much going on in this small wizarding village. As if encased in some invisible bubble, the war had not touched these people, even as the Dark Lord’s power grew. International news crept into their cozy lives, just as it did everywhere: They read the stories but did not seem to comprehend the depth of the horrors.

With the locket neutralised, perhaps they would never have to.

The sudden swoop of an owl startled him from his thoughts, flapping its broad-stretched wings rapidly as it landed on the windowsill. Its brow was dipped into a permanent scowl, blade-sharp beak tapping incessantly on the glass.

“Calm yourself,” Regulus muttered, unlatching the window and pulling it up. Immediately, the owl stuck out its legs to unceremoniously drop an envelope on the table. Scrawled out in French, the note inside displayed the now-familiar penmanship of his fulltime-potioneer-parttime-procurer friend of sorts.

‘ _Rian - Welcome to the third decade of your life.  
That venom last week was expensive, so that is the only present you will be getting.  
I hope your experiment was spectacular.’_

With a wry smile, Regulus scribbled down a brief note of thanks and held it out to the owl, who swooped away again as fast as he had come. A call to relaxation pressed at the back of his mind, nudging like a shoe that didn’t quite fit -- or perhaps one that had yet to soften with wear. With a certain tentativeness, he allowed himself to settle as the hint of a morning breeze crept in through the window. The moment did not feel real, as he smothered the whisper telling him something was bound to go wrong eventually, just as it always did. But the moment felt strangely like freedom.

Quietly, he took a sip of his tea.

**Author's Note:**

> The 1975 snippet is based on actual summer snowfall in that area of the UK that year. Crazy.
> 
> The title is pulled from "Time" by Pink Floyd.


End file.
